The large steel reinforced door is sealed shut, our only form of escape now completely blocked off. Paul, the hulking man who once looked so threatening with his armor and crossbow, now tells us with dwindling confidence that the door should be able to keep the attackers out. Nobody was excited at the prospect of locking ourselves in a room with no way out and no way to defend ourselves, but I keep telling myself that we had no choice.
It's my fault that we are here. I will be the cause of the deaths of the very people I asked to protect me.
I scan the whole of our temporary prison ravenously, desperate to make something good happen in our otherwise unfortunate situation. Maybe I can at least find some tech, something to validate my selfish insistence that we enter this (admittedly suspicious) school building. I had, after all, earned the right to scavenge this room with the trading of myarmor just prior to the explosion that had sent us running. I think Malik has it now, the lucky bastard. At least he'll be alright.
That's more than I can say for Bordeaux. I never knew what to think of her on our voyage - to put it mildly, she was a nuisance. But I always felt that there was something behind her showy exterior. Although she garnered plenty of attention through her silly statements and emotional outbursts, there was a profound emptiness lurking in the back of her actions. I saw it earlier today when we discussed the new outbreak between the Curators and the Keepers of the Flame. Amidst her snarky comments, she choked out a small sob. I am not sure what triggered this reaction, only that I saw it happen.
I’d intended to ask her about it, but I never had the chance. Only a few minutes later, she was shot right in front of us.
I blink furiously, turning toward the back of the room to hide my moment of weakness. In an effort to distract myself from this overwhelming wave of emotion, I begin to walk around the perimeter, searching for any item that may have trading value. The room is sparsely furnished, with a few long stainless-steel desks which hold desktop computers. These are bulky and outdated, and I dismiss them as useless as I obviously will not be able to lug one around with me – if I ever escape this trap we are in. There really isn’t much else to see, besides some dusty old bookcases, and something in the corner that I can’t quite make out.
I move toward the object, which is covered in a dirty old tarp, and remove the covering, sneezing as dust flies up into my nose. My heart skips a beat as I examine what is hiding underneath.
“Um, Winston, I think you should take a look at this,” I stammer, barely able to be heard over the cacophony of panicked voices. I am staring down the barrel of a gun that’s larger than I am, poised like a cannon out of some medieval battlement.
Winston runs to my side in a burst of excitement, as well as a few of the residents who followed us into the computer lab. I back away from the huge weapon to allow others to get a closer view.
“We need to mount this somehow, but we can use it to defend our position!” Winston takes charge of the situation, something I’ve come to expect from him. To my surprise, Ian chimes in, volunteering to mount and man the gun. The group sets about preparing for battle, and as they begin to affix the weapon to the steel table that’s flush with the door, I hear chanting coming from the stairwell leading down to the first floor:
“Repentance… acceptance… dominance… death.” The voices are sub-human, booming like rocks in a landslide, and the ominous droning rids me completely of my resolve. My knees are trembling, and there is a weight on my chest that is making it very difficult to breathe. We are going to die now.
A clatter behind my left shoulder makes me start. I whip my head around to see Rio preparing to climb upward into a vent I hadn’t noticed before.
“Guys, I am going through the vent. I’m sorry.” He turns and starts to clamber up onto the surface of the table. I only hesitate for a moment before I reach out and grab his forearm. He looks back at me, startled.
“I am going, too.” My voice is hoarse, a lump forming in my throat as tears sting my eyelids. He stares back at me with enigmatic eyes, just for a second. Then suddenly he climbs up into the vent, and offers his hand to help me up. I take it, hoisting myself up without a second glance back at the comrades who, for some reason, risked their lives to help me.
I wonder what will happen to them?
We make our way through the flimsy ventilation shaft, coming upon an opening that leads us out to the gymnasium. Rio helps me down, and together we walk out into the courtyard, into the garden that grows there. I pick a red, ripe tomato off a vine and hold it in my hands, contemplative. We heard an explosion followed by gunshots when we were climbing through the vents, but I didn’t want to stop until we were far enough away to avoid capture. Now I stare vacantly at the tomato, feeling its smooth texture in my hands, wondering how a world once so full of life and happiness could have turned so ugly.
Rio, sensing my distress, places a broad hand on my shoulder. I thrill at the touch.
"You okay?" Rio asks me, squeezing my shoulder.
I can't speak. I turn to face him with tears in my eyes, and to my surprise he pulls me into an embrace.
"There's nothing we can do for them," he murmurs. His breath tickles my neck, which sends a shiver down my spine.
I pull away. "Thank you for taking me with you," I whisper hoarsely. He meets my eyes with the same enigmatic look as before.
"Of course." He gently grasps my hand. "Let's get out of here."
Hand in hand, we walk out of the garden, back into the wilderness, a proverbial Adam and Eve.
I wonder how long it will be before he leaves me, too.
The large steel reinforced door is sealed shut, our only form of escape now completely blocked off. Paul, the hulking man who once looked so threatening with his armor and crossbow, now tells us with dwindling confidence that the door should be able to keep the attackers out. Nobody was excited at the prospect of locking ourselves in a room with no way out and no way to defend ourselves, but I keep telling myself that we had no choice.
It's my fault that we are here.
I will be the cause of the deaths of the very people I asked to protect me.
I scan the whole of our temporary prison ravenously, desperate to make something good happen in our otherwise unfortunate situation. Maybe I can at least find some tech, something to validate my selfish insistence that we enter this (admittedly suspicious) school building. I had, after all, earned the right to scavenge this room with the trading of myarmor just prior to the explosion that had sent us running. I think Malik has it now, the lucky bastard. At least he'll be alright.
That's more than I can say for Bordeaux. I never knew what to think of her on our voyage - to put it mildly, she was a nuisance. But I always felt that there was something behind her showy exterior. Although she garnered plenty of attention through her silly statements and emotional outbursts, there was a profound emptiness lurking in the back of her actions. I saw it earlier today when we discussed the new outbreak between the Curators and the Keepers of the Flame. Amidst her snarky comments, she choked out a small sob. I am not sure what triggered this reaction, only that I saw it happen.
I’d intended to ask her about it, but I never had the chance. Only a few minutes later, she was shot right in front of us.
I blink furiously, turning toward the back of the room to hide my moment of weakness. In an effort to distract myself from this overwhelming wave of emotion, I begin to walk around the perimeter, searching for any item that may have trading value. The room is sparsely furnished, with a few long stainless-steel desks which hold desktop computers. These are bulky and outdated, and I dismiss them as useless as I obviously will not be able to lug one around with me – if I ever escape this trap we are in. There really isn’t much else to see, besides some dusty old bookcases, and something in the corner that I can’t quite make out.
I move toward the object, which is covered in a dirty old tarp, and remove the covering, sneezing as dust flies up into my nose. My heart skips a beat as I examine what is hiding underneath.
“Um, Winston, I think you should take a look at this,” I stammer, barely able to be heard over the cacophony of panicked voices. I am staring down the barrel of a gun that’s larger than I am, poised like a cannon out of some medieval battlement.
Winston runs to my side in a burst of excitement, as well as a few of the residents who followed us into the computer lab. I back away from the huge weapon to allow others to get a closer view.
“We need to mount this somehow, but we can use it to defend our position!” Winston takes charge of the situation, something I’ve come to expect from him. To my surprise, Ian chimes in, volunteering to mount and man the gun. The group sets about preparing for battle, and as they begin to affix the weapon to the steel table that’s flush with the door, I hear chanting coming from the stairwell leading down to the first floor:
“Repentance… acceptance… dominance… death.” The voices are sub-human, booming like rocks in a landslide, and the ominous droning rids me completely of my resolve. My knees are trembling, and there is a weight on my chest that is making it very difficult to breathe. We are going to die now.
A clatter behind my left shoulder makes me start. I whip my head around to see Rio preparing to climb upward into a vent I hadn’t noticed before.
“Guys, I am going through the vent. I’m sorry.” He turns and starts to clamber up onto the surface of the table. I only hesitate for a moment before I reach out and grab his forearm. He looks back at me, startled.
“I am going, too.” My voice is hoarse, a lump forming in my throat as tears sting my eyelids. He stares back at me with enigmatic eyes, just for a second. Then suddenly he climbs up into the vent, and offers his hand to help me up. I take it, hoisting myself up without a second glance back at the comrades who, for some reason, risked their lives to help me.
I wonder what will happen to them?
We make our way through the flimsy ventilation shaft, coming upon an opening that leads us out to the gymnasium. Rio helps me down, and together we walk out into the courtyard, into the garden that grows there. I pick a red, ripe tomato off a vine and hold it in my hands, contemplative. We heard an explosion followed by gunshots when we were climbing through the vents, but I didn’t want to stop until we were far enough away to avoid capture. Now I stare vacantly at the tomato, feeling its smooth texture in my hands, wondering how a world once so full of life and happiness could have turned so ugly.
Rio, sensing my distress, places a broad hand on my shoulder. I thrill at the touch.
"You okay?" Rio asks me, squeezing my shoulder.
I can't speak. I turn to face him with tears in my eyes, and to my surprise he pulls me into an embrace.
"There's nothing we can do for them," he murmurs. His breath tickles my neck, which sends a shiver down my spine.
I pull away. "Thank you for taking me with you," I whisper hoarsely. He meets my eyes with the same enigmatic look as before.
"Of course." He gently grasps my hand. "Let's get out of here."
Hand in hand, we walk out of the garden, back into the wilderness, a proverbial Adam and Eve.
I wonder how long it will be before he leaves me, too.